


All you need is some colour

by KatlockPrior67



Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Adoption, Art, Cutting, Depression, F/M, First Kiss, First Meeting, First Time, Fluffy, Graffiti, Growing Up, Healtheworld, Love/Heartbreak, POV Tris, Personalities, Racism, School, Surprises, Teenager, change, fourtris - Freeform, humanitarian, selfharm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5581459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatlockPrior67/pseuds/KatlockPrior67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beatrice Prior's life is like darkness. Getting bullied in school and not receiving any of her parents interest whatsoever she sees no future in her depressed mind.<br/>But luckily everything is destined to change one cold night when she finds a flicker of colour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nightly_Chopin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightly_Chopin/gifts).



> Hey, everybody :D  
> This is my first ever post! I hope you'll like it! 
> 
> I want to thank my friend freejohnlockhiddlesbatch for showing me the fantastic world of Archiveofourown, you have opened so many doors for me :) so please check her fanfics out!

Chapter one

I awake to another dull day. Again. The magic of my childhood is long gone and now more than ever I feel the boredness sneaking up on me like a dark shadow. There is no drive in me to get up or even move. But like every day I need to because life must go on, musn't it? -at least that's what society wants you to think. I can only faintly remember the days when I woke up incredibly early because I was so excited for the next day's adventures and these memories are hidden far away in my depressed mind.

I sit down at our table, wearing my black hoodie and dark grey jeans. I stopped wearing colours when I came to highschool -I attract less attention that way. '  
Look, Beatrice, it says here, that St. Georges University gives their students the best education in medicine! You must apply there!' My father enthusiastically points at the article of his newspaper. 'And they even give scholarships! One of them will be yours with your good marks! You'll have no problems in the future!'  
If he only knew which problems I am dealing with right now. My mother catches my eye: 'this could be a great opportunity. But only if you really want to study medicine of course.' I blink at her, I'm glad she can even have the thought that I could possibly want to study something else. I wish she would make my father more open to my ideas of my future. But they both think that art isn't a way to earn money. So like always, I just nod and smile -It's the easiest way.

I spend my day drawing skulls into my doodling pad and laying in bed. Sometimes school holidays are more exhausting than actual school lessons.

In the evening I help my mother to cook the dinner. She's making a vegan vegetable lasagna, my favourite meal! It's funny that when I was younger I believed that everyone, when they talked about lasagna where talking about vegetable lasagna, until I found out that the 'real' lasagna has meat in it. I've never tried meat. My parents are both vegetarian because they do not want to encourage the torture of animals. I had no choice but to follow that. I like cooking with my mum. It is a very calming activity and we always can spend a little time together. When it's not the holidays I hardly see her as he does night shifts and sleeps in the daytime, so I enjoy this quality-time a lot. 'So are you looking forward to going back to school next week' she cocks an eyebrow. 'You know, actually I am... I'd like to have a routine again.' I smile shyly. My mother nods 'Do you find it hard right now?' I start to feel all fuzzy inside. She knows. She cares. She understands. But I...I can't tell her. I wish I could, I wish that lump in my throat would clear, I wish my brain would remove that cotton cloud blurring my mind. But they don't. And I suppose they never will if I don't try. I gulp hard 'I...I-' 'Oh, sugar' my mother hastily opens the cupboard door 'This can't be! Where's the onion?!' The Cotten cloud in my brain turns into a rain cloud. I was wrong. How stupid could I be to believe she knew, cared or understood me?! How naive am I to think she ever wants to hear an answer, when she asks questions? She probably just read it in one of her intelligent books. Most certainly the puberty one in which it says 'your daughter will have ups and downs, that's perfectly normal. Just give her the feeling she has someone to talk to. Good questions are: Do you find it hard right now?....blablabla' she has no Idea, no freaking idea how hard I find it right now and she genuinely doesn't care anyway. Out of gritted teeth I spit 'I'll get an onion from the store' go out of the room and put my coat on. My mother doesn't even bother to ask me what I was intending to say, instead she finds it appropriate to remind me of weird men in the dark. 

The cooling winter wind smacks my face, but it calms me. I start to feel the need to feel a blade on my wrist again. Automatically my fingers touch the big scars on my arm. Clearly visible -like a bolt of lightning has struck in a dark night.  
My feet move very fast and with every kick of my heals I feel the anger ease of a little. It has always been this way -it won't ever change. I am alone.  
I go along a dark alley and listen to the wind crashing against the big willows. Everything is pitch black only the street lamps give me a sense of orientation. I've long passed the road to get to our grocery store, I'm just following my nose, now. Here walking around like this I feel free and contentedly alone. The night understands me.  
Suddenly under one of the lamps I catch a glimpse of green, spiky hair. Probably one of the punks or street kids running back from their daily steel for food. I should now head to the store, my inner 'scaredy cat' cat tells me, but my adventurous side makes me follow the flash of colour in the dark scene.  
I follow the alley until I stand in front of a bridge. If I listen closely to the river sounds I can make out some whispers coming from underneath. Through a gap in the bush I climb down the river banks. A light of a torch makes the scene observable. Green spikes is standing with a few other 'birds of paradise' with colourful hair, tattoos and piercings decorating their unique bodies. My head alarms me about them but some other feeling of mine, a bigger one, pleads me to watch these mesmerizing creatures. One of them, a tall, muscular boy, with only a tattoo curling around his neck, catches my attention. His expression makes me sad but all warm at the same time. He sends the vibes of hurt and love. I sit down in the thicket studying that torn, but beautiful boy. He starts taking out cans of paint and sprays the wall. The colours lighting up the dark scene. He sprays four faces, one in brown, one in white, one in yellow and one in red. And with all bright letters he writes: 'how can a colour be a reason to treat a person differently?' This blows my mind. How can a visibly so broken person want to mend the world? He doesn't owe it anything! I can not understand why he would be like that. I start to believe I'm dreaming.  
Abruptly the atmosphere changes. A siren appears. I am unable to move, still caught in that artwork of the hurt guy. And then he turns his head and two dark blue eyes are searching through me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice needs to understand what had just happened... Why did that broken boy want to save her from trouble? Why her? Why the depressed, boring girl?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> So this is a very emotional part...  
> She needs to sort her feelings.  
> I hope you like it!

Chapter two

These eyes with the dilated pupils caused by the darkness hypnotise me and I am unable to move. All the thoughts I had fly away in milliseconds and all that is left is my rigid body standing in the bushes. The artist looks at me, studying, reading through me as if I was an interesting book. I suppose a seventeen-year-old girl dressed in black sitting in the thicket in a river bank is not a common sight. He probably believes I'm a real adventurist. I wish I was, I really do, but I'm not. I wonder what he'd think of me if he knew the real me: A girl, that literally only lays in bed all day and cuts herself. Who's only highlight of the day is doodling sculls 'till they look terrifyingly real. A girl who has no friends and has stopped talking to anyone. A girl who only wears black to hide from the rest of the world. Someone who thinks her life has no sense. A girl who clearly doesn't fit into the colourful haven of the Graffiti bridge.  
Suddenly a torch lights up my surroundings. Loud Walkie talkie noises fill the space. And the dark hurricane of dark memories swirls inside, suffocating me with its heaviness. I do not let myself remember them, but it is hard. I am still unable to move, but this time for a different reason. Panic rises in me and a pain starts digging into my chest like a shining sword. Helplessly I turn my gaze back to the boy, who's eyes are still locked on me. Was I really so interesting. It alarms me to think I attract his attention so much. Now I'm aching to let him know I am not who he believes me to be. I wish I could tell him before the memory hurricane stops me from having control over my body. A big feeling of mine doesn't want him to see that side of me. Me loosing it, me captured in darkness.  
I tell myself to look away before it happens...Then I realise the lips of the angelic face are moving. He's mouthing 'Run!'  
He knows -He knows what is going on inside me. A wave of relief rushes through my body, building up my strength. Enough strength to believe everything will turn out okay. Enough strength to be able to stop cutting. Enough strength to turn my head away to get ready to move. He is right! I should not let my memories control me, like they always have up to now. I should run now to prevent myself from getting trouble from the police for a crime I haven't even committed. It is unbelievable how much power this one syllable gives me. Even though I was just about to lose it, hate him because I hate myself. The fact that he doesn't judge me means I'm not alone. The hurt boy is on my side!  
I feel my muscles tensing. Ready for action.  
But the louder the sirens get and the more the torch sways from from one side of the river to the other the weaker the power gets. I needed his gaze back, I could not face the darkness alone. Not yet. Helplessly I try to move my head back to him, but it's like my sense of sight vanishes. I have nothing, nothing to fight with against the dark memory cloud. And it overpowers me fully. 

-Dark night. Laughing little girl. Warm hands caressing face. Streetlights. Sudden bang. Darkness. Scream. Fight. Hooded man hitting with baseball bat. Police sirens. Shooting. Bodies fall to floor. Hooded man escapes. Darkness.-

Paralyzed I sit there more helpless than ever. How much I wish I could just 'run' like angel face says. But my brain is unable to think properly as the memories jumble everything up like vicious waves. Hurting me again and again and again. Then I hear footsteps and the light of a torch illuminates me. I am in shock but the words: 'Run, Idiot,RUN!' wash through my body. The broken boy catches my eye and this time my legs kick into action. Powered by adrenaline and fear my legs carry me out of the bush and back to the alley. Past the dark trees, that now do not calm me anymore but intimidate me. I should be safe now, I think, but those legs just won't stop. It's like I'm flying from street lamp to street lamp until I find myself shivering and hyperventilating in front of the grocery store. My body slumps to the ground and I pull my knees to my chin. What has just happened?

It's 2am and I can not sleep. I managed to mask my terrified face in front of my parents but alone in my bed, I can finally let everything flow. Was it a dream?  
I find it hard to understand .I can't believe my mind isn't playing tricks on me. I try to remember every little bit of it to understand ,but all the times I try to make sense out of the situation I can not get the fact that angel face told me to run. I would even understand him more if he had become aggressive because I was spying on him. But him saving me was just as illogical as pigs flying. Did he truly know what was going on in my head. Did he know I was just as broken as he was? Did he really want to help me? The questions were circling Melkite hungry ,grey sharks. Just waiting for that little flicker of colourful confidence to go out and drown me in darkness.  
He would not want to help me. How could I only let myself think that? I tell myself to stop giving myself hopes, they won't ever become reality anyway. I'll only hurt myself. 

Despite my jumbled up thoughts one thing is as clear as ice. In my messed up mind there is one thing that I have figured out.  
The broken boy is my idol. I adore him for his work, his creativity, his humanitarian projects and for what ever reason saving me from getting into trouble. No matter if this just is my imagination: I will try to act like I think he does from now on.  
I might be hurt, lost and left alone, but I know the feeling and I can help others in the same situation. I know. I care. I understand.  
I don't want to be like all my classmates who are seeing me and hurting me continuously with their ignorance or cold words. I don't want to be like my parents who are only ever showing me my weaknesses instead of telling me what I do well. I want to be like my imaginary hero who sees my weaknesses but still believes I can create great things.  
So I will follow that belief. Things will change.  
And I take the blade I have hidden in my bedside cabinet, go into the bathroom and place it back into my razor. This is were the change starts.

Then I drift into a colourful dream. And in the morning when I awake I feel reborn and am ready for action.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer holidays are over and Beatrice is ready to accept this challenge as a 'new me'. And in the canteen she meets a very known face...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice is finally changing! It's going to get interesting :)

Chapter 3

'Be the change you want to see in the world' -Gandhi

I sit down in the middle of my room. After days of sorting, creating, tidying and getting rid of things I finally finished the last cupboard! It was like my room changed from being a waste disposal site of hurtful memories to an oasis of creativity! I let my eyes gaze from my bed to my desk.  
The sudden feeling of contentment overwhelms me. It's like I've managed to create something myself and I was proud. This wasn't something I felt often. I hated my body, wanted it gone so badly I was self destructive! And now after finally making the first move of a change, I feel like I've cleansed my soul.  
It is unbelievable how this can change a person. How change can give you a sense of hope. Hope that it will all get better. Hope that there is a future!  
If only change wasn't so hard. These days might have been really good for me, but I found it unbelievably hard too. All the things I tried to hide and forget about got dug out again. All the feelings I didn't let myself ever feel raged in me like dancing flames. But I have strength. Someone else has experienced the same. Someone else has overcome the dark times.  
Just the fact that he has managed, gives me power. Not the fact that he looked at me like I think he did, not the fact that I think he wanted to save me...  
Maybe, I think, just maybe I do not trust my feelings because I'm still wounded. The fact can not hurt me as it is something I saw without my feelings being involved. Maybe I can not trust my feelings because I'm scared of getting hurt. Just maybe... And this makes me sad. But for this change I am not ready yet...

I look at my walls. I had hung up some quotes: 'There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so -Shakespeare' is written in big black letters in the center of my white wall. Beside it was a canvas with a colourful parrot I painted yesterday. It was the first time I used my colourful paints...I only ever used the grey, white and black ones... But the parrot was like a splash of colour in my white room with black bedsheets, curtains and a fluffy black carpet. I like it. It is like a rebel. It wants to stand out! 

Sitting on the fluffy carpet I start to feel tired, emotionally exhausted. Who would have ever thought that tidying up can be such hard work...  
But I can now say that I am ready. Ready to go back to school after the holidays and be a happier version of myself...

\---------------------------------------------------------------------  
My mother knocks on my door 'Beatrice?! Are you still sleeping? You're fifteen minutes late for breakfast!' I look back into the mirror. My dark brown eyes stare back at me. I did not know what to wear...  
I had a top on I had banned into the furthest corner of my cupboard ages ago. Because it was peachy-salmon pink...a colour I liked, but not on my body -at least not before. I did not know if I should or could wear it. It brought out the pink of my lips. They looked bigger.  
Was that a bad thing?! My old self would say 'Yes, it is. People think you're proud of being you!' But my new self questions that 'But shouldn't I be proud of being myself? It's what makes a person happy!'  
I glance at my reflection one more time... I smile, my curly black hair bouncing up and down. My skin tone looking like warm dark chocolate with that pink top.  
'I am ready!' I shout. How can a colour be a reason to treat a person differently, anyway? I can not change who I am, so I might as well be happy with what I have!  
I run downstairs past a very surprised looking mother...

In school I watch all the pupils giving each other hugs, telling each other about the adventures they had had. Showing photos of their summer love...  
All I did was stick my new timetable into my locker... But you have to start somewhere don't you?  
It is easy being the outsider before school starts when everyone is too busy catching up with the latest gossip with their friends. It is still bearable being an outsider when you are in your lessons because the teachers are in charge there...  
But the lunch break is murder for an outsider when you have no place to sit in the canteen... My old me would just hang out in the art rooms...but my new me wanted to try a fresh start.

I take my tray and walk along the room. I feel like a model on a catwalk only that I do not belong. I try to keep my eyes glued to the floor, but the vicious stares of the 'good-looking girls' sting me like bees. I bravely go on.  
It seems like all eyes where on me. I consider turning around immediately to give this horror an end. I feel so ashamed like I am in one of those awful dreams in which you go to school naked....but this is what my old me would do.  
So I take a deep breath and look up again to see that everyone's attention was drawn away by other things. Phew... 

Then I see a place...it's right beside a guy wearing black trous- OH MY GOD... It was the broken boy! I literally just stand there with my mouth wide open staring at the boy... It was him! What? How? Why haven't I ever noticed him before? He's the most noticeable person in the entire school! And then it dawned on me: I was too selfish, too involved in my darkness to notice any flicker of light.  
I was in a bubble ,a self-destructive black bubble, that kept me from seeing the light. But the thing was I did not want to see it. I only wanted to stay with what I knew, because new things could possibly hurt me...  
But I can now officially say my bubble has been popped and I am now facing the light...but with a risk of course.

Suddenly a little finger tips my shoulder. I turn around and see a pretty black haired girl smiling at me with big eyes 'They look helluva good, right?!' I feel my face turning from salmon pink like my top, to dark red like a rose...awkward!  
But she doesn't seem to mean it that way as she just keeps on chatting 'Come on, let's sit down together! I'm Christina, by the way. I love reading, singing and reading Johnlock fan fictions, man they're so friggin cute together! Do you know them?' She talks so fast, I'm not used to so much liveliness or energy.  
But I like it -it makes me alive. I smile 'I'm Beatrice, I like painting...and no I unfortunately don't know Johnlock...but I'm open to anything. You can tell me about it...and yes, let's sit down together.' 

Whilst blabbing on we sit down at the graffiti sprayer's table. I sit beside the boy, his dark blue eyes search through me again, I start to feel a bit uncomfortable...does he remember? Does he mind me sitting here?  
All the other colourful ,pierced faces stare at me. So I decide to keep my eyes locked on Christina, who's telling me about Johnlock. 'So John always says he's so straight, and Sherlock says he doesn't do relationships...but the way they treat each other, show's they fit so perfectly together. You can come over to my place and we can watch some episodes if you like!'  
I nod 'I'd love to! But I must warn you, I've never read or watched anything about gay people...' A guy with piercings in his face looks at me in a disapproved and mocking way 'so our little black girl here is homophobic, it's so clear...the niggers are only bad for America!  
They should go back to their home country and live their lives there!' A sudden silence spreads across the table as he keeps on raving. I stop listening, I've heard it all before. But I thought we're past that age now. Shocked my head turns to my neighbour.  
And in daylight I see that he's not just Caucasian... Even he has the African curls and full lips.  
My heart starts beating. So he knows, he's the same! But why doesn't he say anything? I mean he sprayed that graffiti onto the bridge. Then the guy with the green spiky hair whispers 'Erik, stop!' And Christina adds 'Yeah! It's racist and not appropriate! The dark skinned people came to America, not because they chose to, but because they had to! Guys like you took them out of their beloved country to keep them as slaves! So just shut up! And you be more open!'  
Go her! A warm feeling appears in me...aww! She's defending me!  
Unexpectedly the boy beside me clears his throat and his look turns annoyed! 'Can't you all just shut up?! And you:' he turns to Christina 'Keep your opinion to yourself. nobody wanted to hear it.'  
This is enough! My hurt turns to anger 'Yeah, right?! Did you just want to leave Eric's words as they were? Look, even you have African in you!'  
He glares at me and I can literally feel the anger vibrate in his words 'What makes you think you can talk to me?' My throat goes dry.  
I can't believe it! He was the one who sprayed that picture, he saved me from the cops, he has the same ethnicity...well my old me would cry and run away but my new me said the truth 'Must be because you're so approachable' it's true at least for me...I feel I can trust him, even though I don't know him properly and think what he had just said was stupid... I hear giggles, but I don't care. 

I stand up and elegantly sashay to the door, feeling all eyes on me, but totally enjoying it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four feels he needs to apologize to Tris... He meets her at break.
> 
> Is this the start of something?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's starting to get fluffy...:)

Chapter 4 

I really enjoy the next days at school. Christina always waits at my locker before school starts, which makes me unbelievably happy. I sometimes can not understand why anyone would like to meet up with someone like me. I think I couldn't cope with hanging out with a depressed person...but then I know I've changed.  
Christina cares for me, she waits for me and wants to spend time with me, even if that graffiti sprayer obviously doesn't. She doesn't see me as the weird girl everybody laughs about.  
But she helps me by making me laugh about myself! Like when I sashayed out of the room! I'm such a drama queen!  
And now I realise that the broken boy could have been anyone. In fact anything. I was ready for change and any small flicker of light could have led to a big fire with the right material! So I don't need him to feel strength. I just needed him to start my change...  
\---------------------------------------------------------------

It's the lunch break and I'm waiting for Christina. Since the sashaying-incident we haven't reappeared in the canteen at all...we've proved all we wanted to. So now we hang out in the art rooms like I used to before. I don't know if that's against the rules, but nobody has sent us away yet. 

So I sit there working on my newest painting. I'm drawing three birds flying up towards the sky. Each one of them symbolizing a member of my family.  
Just when I finish painting the third one the door opens. "Hey, I'm finished! What do you think?" When I get no answer I turn around. It's not common for Christina to be quiet. In front of me is a big muscly body, a body I've studied before. And two dark blue eyes are staring at me once more. Intimidated by the intensity of the feeling I look back at my painting, turning crimson...  
I feel him moving towards me and catch a glimpse of his biceps when he sits down beside me. Warmth starts to spread through me.  
I watch him looking at my painting. His expression is hard to read.  
He points his long finger to the painting and says: "It's very deep this painting. I like it. It has meaning. But all it needs is some colour."

His words spiral through me like wind and make me feel...well...I don't know - a way I've never felt before.  
I whisper "thanks", scared that any noise could erase the great feeling into nothingness. Why does everything he does make no sense? This guy just keeps surprising me again and again! Every time I think I've sussed him out...boom...he does another thing I didn't expect at ALL! He is so unpredictable! A week ago he had glared at me in anger? Why was he now so nice? 

I look back at him hoping to find an answer. He seems to notice my confusion.  
The broken boy starts fidgeting and looking anywhere but my eyes...he is struggling with something. I turn back to my painting. "Look," he says "I want to apologize for last week" I start adding some colour to my canvas by painting red feathers in the background. "You know it was just difficult for me...I found it hard to stand up for us." Green and yellow feathers start flying through my picture too. "I just didn't want to remember...." He trails off... So I turn back. "I know that feeling. That's why I didn't want to run at first when you told me to. I felt I couldn't control myself if I had moved. I was about to lose it... You know, you can tell me if it helps!" 

He looks at me approvingly, but shakes his head. "I don't want you to know." But this wasn't at all meant as an insult. By the look on his face I could tell he was intending in protecting me. To show him that's fine as well I smile shyly.  
"Let's change the subject. When did you start spraying graffiti?" An enthusiastic grin appears on his face. "I've always been creative. I'd spend my time doodling and drawing all day until I met Erik and he persuaded me to join their gang. And you? When did you start creating art?" I tell him that it was more less the same. We spend the rest of the break chatting, giggling and even he paints some feathers onto my canvas. 

When the school bell rings, the broken boy gets up and slips through the door... Christina uses the chance to come in. Oh no...she must have heard us. Surely 1000 nosey questions are awaiting me....Quickly I remember something "wait!" His head pops back. Clearly it was getting to the embarrassing point not to know his name by now. "I'm .....Tris" Somehow Beatrice didn't seem right -it belonged to my old me. Laughing he tells me 'Four' is his name. My little black haired friend sniggers "Like the number?!" A bit shocked my head turns back to the guy with the unique name - but I hadn't expected anything else... "Yes. Like the number." He challenges her. I'm relatively sure his name has a bigger meaning than that. Hopefully one day I will find out what. 

When Four is gone Christina bombards me with her questions. But feeling all giggly and high I'm more than happy to answer every single one...

A change is in me. Every rule I made myself has been broken and now through these cracks and ruins light is shining through.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four and Tris both know they're entirely broken and wrecked people and this is what is ruling their feelings right now. 
> 
> When Four tells her his secret, she starts to understand him better.

Chapter 5

From that day on Four sometimes finds me hanging out in the art rooms and helps me with my paintings. He shows me better techniques and even let's me try out his spraying cans. Christina and I start hanging out with some more kids from our class. She even goes out with one of them.   
One day she asks me "Do you think Four will ask you out one day?"   
And even though that situation was all I've been dreaming about for at least a week, I shake my head. "I can't imagine him making the first move..." She gives me a look, telling me to pull myself together 'as we are in the 21rst century and boys asking girls out is so yesterday.' But he is two years older and I don't feel courageous enough. Besides I am very happy with our relationship right now. A month ago this wouldn't have even been an option for me -I feel so grateful and happy.   
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

At home my parents notice my change but don't understand it. My mother repeatedly asks me where I am going all the time after school and my dad is disappointed in my marks. My social life is just more important for me at this moment in time.   
But their behaviour doesn't hurt me like it did before as I know they won't change. In only 2 years I will leave home anyway... Then I won't need my family anymore. 

But when I arrive at home tattooed with three birds flying up my collar bone they feel they have to make a move. My mother lays her head in her arms unable to hide her shock and my father stands in front of me with a fierce glare on his face.   
"Beatrice Prior! How dare you disfigure yourself with an ugly tattoo without our permission! You know what we think of tattoos! I can not believe it! What will the neighbors think? We are educated people. You have been ruining yourself ever since this school year. These new friends of yours they-" "Shut up, Andrew!" This must hurt him very badly I have always called him 'dad' before. "These new friends of mine have prevented me from NOT ruining my life. And in comparison to you both they actually care what I do and want me to live! Why do you even care what I look like? You didn't care when I cut my self, when I hated myself and wished for death! All you care about is YOUR appearance. You have nothing to say to me, you are NOT my parents! Why did you even adopt in the first place if this is the way you think?" 

Silence spread the room. I had never said such hurtful words before. But I wanted them to feel the pain I have experienced every day through them, through their coldness. Unable to bare any more of it. I stomp outside the room and slam the front door shut. Before I even make a plan what to do next my legs are already heading to the graffiti bridge.

In no time with vicious steps I'm in front of the colourful bridge that had started up this whole thing. My body takes on a life of its own and suddenly stands by the river bank.   
Four sees me and comes up to me. My brain seems unable to think sensible things and in no time I find myself hugging this godlike creature. A new sensations keeps up my spine when my head meats his chest, the pressure of my hands on his muscly back are decreasing. But he doesn't seem to miss out on that feeling either. He places his strong hands around my waist and almost automatically I feel his cheeks against mine.   
Abruptly he stops and pushes me away from him "Tris?" This knocks some sense in me. Still standing there breathing heavily, lips puckered I realise what I had just done. Ashamed I gulp "I...I..." There's no sense. I had failed. I had let out all my feelings...ones he didn't even share... I had ruined a lovely pure friendship... I "Stop blaming yourself" he interrupts my thoughts. "I just can't cope with these big feelings yet... Not after what has happened. I'm so sorry. I wish I could tell you, you need to understand." I look around and am more than relieved to find out nobody else has shared the dramatic showdown. 

I sit down on a stone and wait for him to come beside me. When he does he tells me his story. 

I come from a place near the part of the city you live. My father and my mother had high ranking jobs. I don't know if they ever loved each other but they had lived together for a while before I was born. Maybe the reason It came the way it did was my birth but how should I know? All I remember is when I was little my mother and father had a big row resulting in her trying to take me out of my bed and leave that night. Unfortunately my dad had noticed this which led to the fact she was unable to save me too. I grew up having to stand up against Markus's extreme mood swings, drinking habits and physical abuse. I got hit day by day with this belt and this left me traumatized even now. So two years ago I left too, after meeting Eric and his gang. He taught me to be dauntless, not to let any fears rule me. We find out what our rules are and try to overcome them. They call me Four because I only have four fears. Eric has helped me a lot. He let me escape this hell. Only now by chance I've found out that my mother is still alive. Which makes me hate my father even more. After making her life unbearable by physically abusing her, then ripping her child away from her and giving her a serious injury he still intended on her suffering every day of her life.   
This makes me feel sick, out of control and worried. Especially as she most certainly must think I'm dead because I'm not at home anymore. I don't know what do.  
I must find her, but I have sworn by death I will stay with this gang for ever. At that time it seemed like a great commitment to make. I had friends, a home and most of all security and a caring family. I saw a future ahead of me, only now I see what I've done... And I know I need to get out of here. 

Four shivers, so I put my arms around him once more but this time for another reason. This is a broken boy...he does not deserve this pain...this life or this misery. This beautiful, colourful, creative soul doesn't belong here in this dark scene. 

My fingers trace the tattoo he has curling around his neck trying to soothe him.

**Author's Note:**

> Divergent nor the characters of the Divergent series belong to me. This is all Veronica Roth's creation! (A very good one, btw) ;)


End file.
